


The Perfect Gift

by Adenil



Series: Ki'Lor'Koi Meditation [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anniversary, Begging, Bondage, Bones is Thirsty, Come Eating, Comeplay, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Piercings, Spock has a real thing about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11888337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: What do you get for the Vulcan who has everything?





	The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Even more in this series, 'cause I can't stop won't stop. I have an idea for one more installment of this series, but it'll be a bit longer. Stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks to doctormccoy, TAFKAB, and WhatIfImaMermaid for their beautiful beta work. All mistakes are still mine, of course.
> 
> Check out my tumblr: [adenil-umano](http://adenil-umano.tumblr.com/).

What do you get for the Vulcan who has everything?

McCoy had been anxiously contemplating that very question for weeks now as the anniversary of the night they had decided to ‘go steady’ swiftly approached—and McCoy still got a kick out of that every time he thought about it. Going steady. It made him feel young and silly, and he thought the term perfectly reflected how head-over-heels he was for Spock.

Their other anniversary—of the day Spock had hogtied him and given him an orgasm that made him feel like he was ascending to a higher plane of existence—had been easier to deal with. Neither of them had really expected anything for it, and so the serious conversation they had fallen into had been an almost-welcome surprise. They’d hashed out a lot of things and reached an easy balance between their needs, both shared and disparate. After all, a relationship was not built on meditation alone, which meant that most of the time they would be having typical, vanilla sex. McCoy usually didn’t mind—at least, not too very much—since that meant he got to hold Spock close and kiss the living daylights out of him.

But this anniversary was different. The problem, McCoy thought, was that Spock never really seemed to _want_ for anything. Hell, it had taken an outright admission from Spock for him to realize that his now-boyfriend returned his affection in droves. Spock was a master at sublimation, and McCoy still hadn’t quite figured out how to read him except during those occasional, rare moments of vulnerability that usually happened whenever he was submitting himself to Spock.

He shivered at the thought. They hadn’t been together like that for nearly half a week now, since Spock’s last meditation, but McCoy still remembered how it had felt to be on his knees, Spock’s hand on his jaw, cock working its way in and out of his mouth as his vision blurred with ecstasy. If you’d asked him a year ago how he liked his sex he wouldn’t have been able to explain. Hell, he still had trouble, since Spock’s touch usually left him unable to form complete sentences.

Spock seemed to like what they were doing— _seemed_ being the operative word. McCoy still wondered sometimes. Spock also _seemed_ to not really care how they were together. It was all fine with him. It was McCoy who had a preference that usually involved being unable to move—to struggle—as Spock towered over him. Outside of their meditation Spock would touch him and kiss him and stroke him, but he rarely held McCoy down in the way he really needed.

Truthfully, there was only one preference that Spock had shown, and McCoy was embarrassed to even think about it. But embarrassed or not, he still wanted to make Spock happy, which was why he found himself ordering jewelry late one night as discreetly as possible.

He had the box in his pocket now. It had been weighing at him throughout his shift, heavy and solid, bouncing against his leg as he moved around the Sickbay. It was hardly past lunch and McCoy wasn’t sure how he would make it to dinner with his thoughts so preoccupied.

He was at his desk—one hand sorting requisition forms, the other touching the box through his pocket—when his office door chimed. He expected Chapel, barking, “Enter.”

Spock slipped inside and McCoy softened at the sight of him. Damn it all, but he was still fully in the throes of puppy love. Everytime he saw that shiny black hair or those too-straight shoulders his heart skipped a beat.

“Mr. Spock. What can I help you with?”

“I hope that I am not intruding, Doctor,” Spock said, gliding the rest of the way into the room to stop by the desk. He set a medical tricorder down on it. “I have come to return this.”

McCoy sat up straight. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, blinking in surprise when he saw that it wasn’t just any tricorder, but his favorite one that had been missing for three days. “Where did you find this?”

“I apologize for the subterfuge, Doctor, but it was necessary to maintain the ‘surprise,’ as you say,” Spock said, folding his hands behind his back. “You had complained once that your scanner was working sub-optimally. Although I find attachment to one particular piece of equipment over another to be illogical, I elected to rebalance it for you. You should find that it performs acceptably again.”

McCoy gaped at it. He pulled out the scanner attachment and marveled at how well it fit into his hand now. It seemed like it was a slightly different shape, as if it had been made for him. “Spock, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Forgive me, Doctor. Jim did tell me that flowers and chocolates are more common anniversary gifts, however…”

McCoy waved his hand. No need to explain to _him_ that chocolates would get Spock wasted, and the sight of flowers got them both hot and bothered. “Sulu’s still pissed at you for picking the prized hydrangeas, huh?”

“Indeed,” Spock said. He inclined his head. “I wished also to confirm our appointment this evening.”

That ‘appointment’ was their anniversary dinner. McCoy smiled at him, fondly shaking his head and shutting his new and improved tricorder away in his desk drawer. “Well, I haven’t suddenly developed other plans so I’d say, yes, our ‘appointment’ is still on.”

Spock nodded sharply. “I am pleased to hear that, Doctor.” If Spock saw him rolling his eyes at the title he didn’t show it. “There is a slight change in location. I was able to secure the starboard observation lounge for a duration of ninety minutes. We will not be disturbed during that time.”

“That’s great.” McCoy was impressed, mostly because he was certain that Spock hadn’t pulled any First Officer-related strings to get them some alone time. He’d probably gone through all the proper channels.

“I have asked the chef to prepare a special meal,” Spock said matter-of-factly. He could have been reading off a requisition form. There was nothing in his voice to indicate he was talking about a romantic dinner. “I have heard you speak fondly of ‘chicken and waffles.’”

McCoy’s heart warmed. For all his emotional distance, Spock really was very thoughtful. He swallowed past the fondness in his throat and muttered, “The way you say it—it sounds like you don’t think it’s a real thing.”

Spock raised his brow. “We shall see. I, of course, will be partaking in nutritional supplement seventeen.”

“Of course.” McCoy again rolled his eyes and Spock again ignored the gesture. Truthfully, he was touched by the amount of work Spock had put into their evening. And here he was with a box in his pocket. He hadn’t even wrapped it.

He realized he’d gone quiet when Spock politely inquired, “Will that be all, Doctor?”

He should be the one asking Spock that, but he knew what Spock wanted. He rose and leaned over his desk, gesturing Spock closer. “C’mere, you,” he muttered fondly, trying to shake his distraction.

Spock brightened at the request and leaned over the desk, his hands still firmly behind his back, to kiss McCoy on the lips. It was a bit awkward but McCoy still sighed into the contact, adoring the way Spock smelled clean and crisp, the shape of his chaste mouth gentle against his own. McCoy chased after him as he tried to pull away and Spock graced him with another closed-mouth kiss.

It was over too soon and Spock leaned back on his heels, nodding to McCoy. “Until this evening, Doctor.”

“Spock, wait.” His hand had fallen to his pocket. Maybe he should just give it to him now and get it over with. “I, uh, got something for you, too.”

Spock accepted the box with a faint look of surprise and opened it. McCoy shifted uneasily, uncertain of what Spock’s response would be. So far he didn’t seem to be responding at all. “These are…”

He trailed off, and so McCoy finished for him, feeling awkward, “Piercings.”

“These are… for me?”

“Well.” McCoy shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He bowed his head and began rearranging the datapadds just for something to do so he didn’t have to look at Spock’s blank face. “Yes,” he whispered. “They’re for you but… they go on me.”

He heard a sharp inhalation and looked up, surprised at the expression on Spock’s face. Spock’s eyes had darkened, his gaze hooded now and contemplative. He had taken out one of the silver rings and was turning it over in his hand. He seemed caught between scientific curiosity and arousal.

“Tell me where.”

“Where—?”

“Tell me where I will pierce you, Leonard.”

McCoy’s breath caught. Spock was looking at him now, all the heat of his gaze boring into him and making him shudder. He still wasn’t the best at reading Spock’s mood, but there was no mistaking _that_ look. Spock was three feet away on the other side of a desk and still McCoy’s body prickled as if he was touching him right then. “On—on my chest. My—” He flushed. “...nipples.”

Spock slipped the ring back into the box and closed it, pocketing it with a deft hand. “You are sensitive there.”

“Yeah.” McCoy could feel his face heat with embarrassment and he reveled in it. The shame was fine—good, even—so long as it was for Spock. “I know how you like to play with them.”

“The sounds you make when I touch you there are quite gratifying.”

McCoy’s blush deepened at Spock’s casual words. He felt like his face was on fire, and as he shifted again in shame his rough shirt pulled over his chest. His nipples were erect, he realized dimly, shivering at the sensation. Erect just from the thought of Spock touching him. “I-I wanted—” He stopped himself, gulping, and then continued, his voice low and raspy, “I wanted a way for you to mark me. I wanted—even when we’re apart, I want to be able to feel that I belong to you.”

“You do belong to me.”

“I know.” He had to close his eyes. “I-I know, Spock.” He could hear movement: footfalls as Spock approached, rounding the desk. He opened his eyes and saw Spock standing before him. Although they were of a height he felt like Spock was looking down at him, towering over him.

“And I to you.”

He gasped. Managed to nod. “Spock, are you—”

“Lock the door, Leonard.”

He fumbled for the keypad at his desk, inputting the code to plunge the room into privacy mode. The sound of the door locks engaging was loud in the still air, but then so, too, was Spock’s breathing.

Spock was on him in an instant, tugging McCoy towards him by the hips, his mouth wet and searching and not-at-all chaste now. McCoy opened to him desperately, already out of his mind with want. He was half hard and he thrust against Spock’s thigh, gasping as Spock picked him up by the hips and spun him around.

Datapadds scattered beneath him as Spock tossed him onto the desk. He grunted, surprised, and Spock took the opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth. McCoy groaned at the contact, his hands scrambling through Spock’s perfect silky hair as Spock pushed apart his legs and shoved between them. He could feel Spock’s sheathed erection against him and then Spock’s hands shoving up under his shirt.

He arched into the contact, groaning as Spock’s calloused hands slid over his stomach with single-minded purpose. Spock lifted his shirt to bunch under his arms and then flicked his thumbs over the hard nubs of McCoy’s nipples.

He gasped, the sound turning to a shout as Spock twisted them, rolling them between his fingers. The touch was _good_ , fantastic even as Spock utterly abandoned any attempt at warming him up and simple tugged at the sensitive flesh, pinching and pulling and swallowing McCoy’s pained moans. Spock nipped at his lips hard enough that McCoy cried out again, and then he yanked away. Spock moved so fast he blurred, his mouth falling to replace his fingers at McCoy’s chest.

“Fuck!” He thrust his chest upwards into Spock’s seeking mouth, groaning as Spock closed his teeth around one peaked nipple while his hand played with the other one. “Spock, Jesus!”

Spock hardly seemed to hear him—he seemed lost in suckling at McCoy, in drawing shuddering moans from him as he held McCoy down against the desk and this, _this_ was what McCoy had been wanting. McCoy tried to grind up against Spock’s stomach but the angle was awkward. He could only shiver and squirm as Spock took him apart with mouth and hands.

The sensation was too much. He could feel himself leaking out into his underwear, the wetness making him itch to throw his clothes off. He managed to work his hands down between them and open his pants, gasping as he yanked himself free. Spock didn’t try to stop him, nor did he try to help as McCoy began stroking himself.

“Spock, Spock, are you— _fuck_ what are you doing?”

In answer, Spock shifted his face, sliding wet lips across McCoy’s pectorals, and sucked the other nipple into his mouth.

“Mmm!” McCoy bit down on his lip. Spock was too far gone to be much use, but he rolled his hips against the back of McCoy’s hand, revealing his own erection. “Here, let me—just let me—” He managed to get Spock’s pants open as well and nearly screamed as the burning hot erection slipped out to slide against his own.

Spock sucked at his chest, his fingers pulling painfully good on the opposite nipple. He left teeth marks that McCoy could feel—damn near drawing blood as he devoured him. McCoy couldn’t even move Spock was so heavy against him; he could only squeeze both their cocks in his hand, stroking through the haze that built behind his eyes.

“Please, please Spock don’t stop— _Christ_ , don’t stop...Just let me… Feels so _good_.”

Spock hummed his agreement, slurping around the sensitive flesh, and it was so _sloppy_. Spock was never really like this—so out of control that McCoy felt like any minute Spock could snap. He felt balanced on a knife’s edge, uncertain if Spock was about to lose it and tug his pants down, get his legs up. If Spock tried to get in him like that—no prep, no lube, no _nothing_ but skin and flesh and _need_ —he would let him. God, he would let Spock do _anything_ so long as his hands never left his body, that perfect mouth doing such sinful, lewd things to his chest. It could not possibly be misconstrued as anything even approaching logic but still Spock muffled a moan against his swollen nipple as he came.

“Fuck,” McCoy managed brilliantly, and he was seeing stars as Spock bucked above him, spilling out over his stomach, and the emission made the slickness already pouring from Spock’s cock turn positively torrential and McCoy bucked up into his hand, come overflowing between his fingers. “Spock!”

He came to Spock still sucking at him, fingers trailing down through the semen on his belly, and his vision greyed. He gasped as Spock gently rutted against him, his still-hard cock milking McCoy’s twitching one.

“Please,” he whimpered, uncertain what he was asking for. “Spock… please…”

Spock seemed to understand. His hips slowed their motion. He slurped at McCoy’s chest one last time and then pulled off, the suction enough to make McCoy groan. He felt sticky and filthy, and for all that their sex had barely lasted five minutes he felt utterly _wrecked_. He was shaking, he realized. His hands were trembling as Spock lifted one to his mouth and began to lick him clean.

He groaned, letting his head fall back against the desk. “Fuck, what you do to me.”

Spock murmured his agreement against McCoy’s fingers. “Your taste is pleasing, _ashayam_.”

He whined, some of his brainpower finally coming back to him now that the blood had left his dick. “We’re in my office.”

“Yes.” Spock had apparently finished with his hand and he moved to push McCoy further up the desk.

McCoy allowed this manhandling, whimpering as Spock began to lick at his belly and chest, swallowing all trace of their activities. “We just had sex in my office,” he noted, dazed.

“Yes,” Spock said again, licking a long swath up McCoy’s stomach to his chest. He curled his tongue around McCoy’s oversensitized nipple and then pulled away. There was come and saliva smeared over his lips and chin, and his eyes were blown. “I apologize, Leonard. I believe your gift… overwhelmed my control.”

“I’ll say.” McCoy swiped his thumb over Spock’s chin, intending to clean him but getting distracted when Spock wrapped his lips around the digit. “Jesus, Spock. If you’re this excited about the prospect of the piercings, what are you going to be like once they’re actually in?”

Spock’s warm, brown eyes held his gaze. If McCoy wasn’t mistaken—and he still wasn’t sure that he wasn’t—he looked _mischievous_. He dropped McCoy’s thumb and bent down again, his breath ghosting over McCoy’s hipbone and he purred, “I look forward to finding out.”

McCoy let his head fall back again, laughing in disbelief as Spock cleaned him thoroughly.

—

Dinner was great. Exactly what he needed after a long shift. It wasn’t just the food, either, but also the company. He and Spock argued gently, sniping at each other as was their way, through the appetizers and most of the first course. McCoy was halfway finished with his positively _divine_ chicken and waffles when he felt a pressure at his ankle. Then movement. He shifted, legs parting, and felt Spock’s socked foot run all the way up to slide between his thighs.

He swallowed thickly. “Spock…”

“You were saying, Doctor? Regarding standards for delivering medical aid to pre-warp societies?”

He looked around hurriedly, but they were alone. Only the waiter would come in and even then Spock’s touch would be hidden by the tablecloth—and, hell. Had Spock planned even _this_? Thoughtful was too weak a word. He groaned and pushed forward as Spock’s toes danced over the bulge in his pants.

He tried to focus on the conversation—it really was something he was interested in discussing—but Spock had him at a serious disadvantage. Spock kept him squirming and shuddering all through desert and the after-dinner coffee. McCoy was leaning over the table by the end, his forearms tense with the effort of keeping still and not throwing himself under the table and getting off against Spock’s leg. He was pretty sure Spock would let him do it, too. And if someone came in while he was under there Spock would explain it away with his usual calm logic. Who would expect a Vulcan of doing something like _that_?

He managed to keep himself under control, glaring at the smooth facade Spock called a face. Spock raised his brow curiously.

“A problem, Doctor?”

“No,” he managed, swallowing the whimper that threatened to spill out next. “But our ninety minutes are up.”

Indeed they were, and the room had to be cleared. Spock—the devil—stayed and helped the ensign clean everything up, despite her protests that it was her job. It did give McCoy a chance to talk his erection down, thankfully, and by the time they were back in the hallway he was practically presentable again.

Practically—save for the way he shuddered wantonly as Spock’s hand found the small of his back. It was a subtle gesture. To an outsider he was merely assisting the doctor. But McCoy could feel the coiled strength in his hands, the way he assumed control utterly and instantly, directing McCoy’s every move with insistent, silent pressure.

He was in a daze by the time they reached Spock’s quarters. Spock took his sweet time keying open the door and ushering McCoy in, and then took even longer locking the door behind him.

McCoy was desperate, needy, begging, “Spock—”

“Get on your knees for me.”

He knelt instantly, reveling in the command. He loved all the sex he had with Spock, but it was rare for Spock to treat him like this except on the days of their meditation. Usually if he wanted Spock to dominate him he had to do a lot of cajoling first, but now he didn’t have to do anything. Spock merely slipped into the role as if it were a robe specially tailored for him.

“Good,” Spock praised him, touching one gentle hand to McCoy’s hair. McCoy lifted into the contact, desperate for the kindness. “You will be good for me tonight, won’t you _ashayam_?”

“Yes.” He shuddered as Spock pointed his fingers, raking his nails down over the back of his neck. “Yes, Spock.”

“I should expect nothing else,” Spock murmured. “You are always good for me. Tell me, how did you imagine I would pierce you?”

He hadn’t really gotten that far in his plan, but he understood that Spock was looking for something and so he thought quickly, trying to focus around the sensation of Spock’s fingers against his neck. “I-I imagined you tying me up so I couldn’t get away.”

“What would you wish to escape from?”

“Your hands,” he said, shivering as Spock began to massage his shoulders. “Not because I don’t want them, but because you’d be touching me so much that I couldn’t stand it. It would start to hurt and I would beg you to stop even though I wanted—needed more. And I… imagined that you’d be inside me when you did it.”

“You wish for me to penetrate you?” Spock asked, his voice low and curious.

“Yeah. I—while you pierce me. Is that… do you want that, too?”

Spock took him by the chin and tipped his face up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were bright, his mouth soft. “Remove your clothes and put them away, and then return to this spot and resume this position.”

McCoy rushed to obey. His blood was thrumming with desire as he shucked off his top and shoved it into the laundry chute. He couldn’t believe his damn luck. Spock was giving him a great gift by letting him submit tonight, and he wondered if Spock knew that was what he was doing. He glanced over and saw Spock had opened his meditation cabinet and was gathering supplies. The cabinet was near overflowing, and had become that way as their meditation grew more… elaborate, but Spock didn’t spill anything as he plucked out what he judged they would need for the evening. McCoy stripped off his boots, his socks, and his pants and underwear and tossed them down the chute as well.

Spock was just out of sight in the sleeping alcove by the time McCoy was kneeling again, his knees slightly spread to relieve some of the ache in his groin. McCoy listened to him shuffling about in there, his heartbeat quickening as he imagined what Spock might be up to.

When Spock returned he had left most of the supplies behind, save for the thick, silver wrist cuffs dangling from one hand.

McCoy gulped at the sight, fists already tense. The wrist cuffs were a new addition to their repertoire—Spock had explained that they had something to do with a ritual related to the _ki’lor’koi_ meditation, and that they had been used on _kafeh_ who were too strong for the ropes. McCoy thrilled at the sight of them, knowing that this meant no chance of escape tonight.

“Present your wrists,” Spock ordered calmly, and McCoy thrust his hands towards him. Spock carefully shackled him.

They were finely etched with Vulcan characters. Spock had made the carvings himself, or so he said when McCoy asked. McCoy marveled at the craftsmanship. He didn’t know how to read the Vulcan words, but he did have their translation. Spock had whispered the meaning to him the first night they had used the cuffs, his words falling measured and calm between the powerful thrusts of his hips. They were phrases of binding, of servitude. Submission.

Spock let his wrists go and McCoy lowered them to his waist. The cuffs were heavy and solid, and the chain coiled cold against his heated body. He twisted his wrists—not trying to break free, but trying to feel the way they cut into his flesh and left marks on his skin.

He was panting by the time Spock tugged him to his feet, one hand under his arm. Spock led him to the bedroom and McCoy gasped at the sight laid out for him. Ankle cuffs had already been secured to the two bottom corners of the bed. There was a bowl of oil on the bedside table, a coil of rope, and the box that contained his jewelry.

He moaned as Spock folded himself against his back, mouthing at his neck with a precision that had him shuddering in seconds.

“I apologize for not gathering more supplies,” Spock murmured, nipping at his neck. His hands came around McCoy’s front and one played with his left nipple as the other traced down to take his cock. Spock gently jacked him as he spoke. “I find that I am too interested in the main event.”

“Doesn’t bother me any,” McCoy managed, throwing his head back against Spock’s shoulder. He could feel every inch of Spock’s clothed form against him. Spock had dressed up for their dinner: a stunning silver jacket with textured embroidery and black pants that were rough against McCoy bare bottom. He arched back against Spock and Spock squeezed him more firmly.

“You correctly detected my fascination with your body, Leonard,” Spock whispered against his skin. He dropped McCoy’s cock and both hands came up to toy with his peaked nipples. “These in particular interest me. Normally, I would apologize for failing to maintain my emotional distance, but in this case I cannot find reason to care.”

“God, Spock…” He yearned upwards into the contact, tugging against his bonds as Spock plucked at him.

“I am pleased, Leonard,” Spock said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through McCoy and left him keening for more. “So pleased that you have given me this gift.”

He gasped. “F-for you, Spock. Just for you.”

“Mm, indeed.” He twisted McCoy’s nipples again and bit him when he gasped. “Lie down for me.”

McCoy hastened forward, nearly tripping in his own hurry. He fell against the bed and felt Spock’s hands on his hips, his waist, rolling him over. He stretched out on his back and looked down as Spock ran his long fingers over his legs, one at a time, to fasten his ankles to the bed.

The cuffs clacked in the quiet of Spock’s quarters, the sound of chains jangling loud and heady. McCoy was forced to spread his legs far apart, feeling the tightness in his inner thigh as he stretched. It hit him, belatedly, that Spock had never tied him up outside the meditation before. It seemed like some boundary between them was breaking down as Spock chipped away at it with his deft hands and clinking restraints.

Spock sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the coil of rope. He took McCoy’s wrists and drew them up over his head, bending down to kiss his palms.

McCoy had some pretty strong suspicions about how Spock felt about his hands, but he didn’t voice any of them as Spock deftly bound them flat so that his fingers were spread and his thumbs were tied together. Spock took his time, touching McCoy everywhere: the meat of his thumb, the tips of his fingers, the lines running down his palm, the bones of his joints. McCoy was shaking by the time Spock tied the end of the rope off to the chain between his wrists and cinched it to the top of the bed, stretching McCoy out for him.

McCoy grunted as the stretch threatened to be too much for him, but he calmed when he felt Spock’s hands on his arms gently massaging him into relaxation. He flexed into the restraints, shivering as he realized he couldn’t get out even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

Spock kissed his hands again, suddenly fierce, and moved in a rush to slide in between McCoy’s legs. The fabric of his trousers was rough against McCoy’s inner thigh, and he jerked as Spock’s knee pressed against his balls. It didn’t hurt, but Spock’s sudden frantic need spooked him.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he muttered.

Spock looked down at him with those warm brown eyes and soft mouth, and McCoy’s heart nearly broke in two at the sight of him. He shuddered as Spock’s hands found his ribs, then his chest, kneading desperately at his flesh. Spock rolled him and cupped what little was there, and then bowed his head to lick one rosy nipple.

“Jesus!” McCoy jerked towards his mouth, groaning as Spock’s fingers found his other nipple and tugged it into hardness efficiently. Spock’s embroidered jacket chafed against McCoy’s cock as he laid himself over him, but McCoy couldn’t find it in him to complain. He could only shudder, shouting as Spock bit him. “Spock!”

That rough tongue, those clever hands, that taut body—everything about Spock conspired to unravel McCoy at the seams. He tried to roll his hips up against Spock’s stomach and groaned as the ankle cuffs prevented the motion. He twisted his wrists in the cuffs, bound fingers twitching and desperate to close into fists. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it as Spock slurped around his sensitive nipple and then wrapped his lips tightly around it, sucking hard enough that McCoy could feel blood rushing just beneath the skin.

He shivered, hazy with need, and didn’t realize Spock still had one free hand until he felt it between his legs. He gasped and tried to spread his legs still further as Spock’s wet hand dove beneath his body and lifted his hips. Spock’s fingers were slick with oil, unerring in their accuracy as Spock shoved two inside of him.

“Spock!”

Spock pulled back, laving his tongue over Leonard’s chest. “Does it hurt? Do you wish for me to stop?”

Those brutal fingers were already massaging him, spreading forcefully to loosen him. McCoy thrashed ineffectively, his body rejecting the intrusion even as he begged, “Hurts—just a little… please don’t stop.”

Spock took him at his word and too soon a third finger was pressing against his entrance. It was too much too fast but McCoy didn’t even think of stopping it. He gritted his teeth and rocked his hips down as much as he could, swallowing up Spock’s inquisitive fingers.

He ached and his chest was on fire, raw from Spock’s stubble and rough tongue. He was whimpering, he realized, trying to swallow the sound. Spock pinched and pulled and McCoy bit his lip against the shout building in his throat, his whole body undulating as it tried to wrench him away from Spock’s hands. But he didn’t want to move away, even as he sobbed and lifted his chest up into Spock’s tugging fingers. Spock’s mouth was so warm and inviting, lips soft to sooth McCoy’s swollen nipples. He kissed and suckled and McCoy sobbed at the bursts of pleasure that spiked through his body at the sensation.

He was begging, he realized, a litany of moans occasionally interrupted. “Yes, please Spock...Please, t-touch me don’t—don’t stop. Please, take me. Need you—ah! Need you to _fuck_ me.”

Spock hummed against his chest and his three fingers quirked inside McCoy’s body, drawing a shudder from him. Spock pulled back and strained his neck upwards, kissing McCoy with wet lips. His fingers pistoned inside of McCoy, making him mewl with pleasure.

“Do you have the piercing supplies?” Spock asked suddenly.

McCoy shuddered, flexing around Spock’s hand. He could feel Spock’s pinky playing at his entrance, toying with him but not pushing in. “Y-yeah. They’re in my drawer.”

Spock murmured against his lips as he kissed him again. “Good. I did not wish to leave you to fetch them.”

“Wh—” He groaned as Spock slipped his fingers out, dragging them over his sensitive hole in a way that had to be intentional. He was left empty, fluttering around nothing, his chest raw and sensitive. “You would have _left_ me like this?”

“As I stated, that would not have been the most preferable option.”

Spock slipped from the bed and went to the drawer where McCoy kept a few things: a change of clothes, his bottle of cologne, a first aid kit, and beneath his socks, the piercing tool. Spock took it and the first aid kit out and laid them out on the bed, bending to capture McCoy’s mouth again.

“Be good for me, Leonard,” he whispered, nipping at McCoy’s lips. “I will return momentarily.”

“Wait—Spock!”

Spock ignored him, disappearing into the bathroom. McCoy watched him go, stunned, and then began writhing against his bonds. He felt naked, and far too aroused, and he needed Spock’s hands on him again more than he ever thought possible. His cock was hard against his belly, dripping precome steadily. His ass was sore but he ached to be filled. Pulling against the cuffs did nothing but remind him that he was utterly at the mercy of Spock’s whims. He stopped moving at the realization, panting heavily, and strained to listen.

He could hear water running, then silence. He whimpered, trying to thrust up into the air. He was nearly about to shout when the door shushed open and Spock stepped back into the room.

Stunningly nude, body gleaming in the light, Spock prowled across the room. He crawled over McCoy’s prone frame and settled in between his spread legs, erect cock slippery against the soft inner skin of his thigh, bending down to suck at McCoy’s neck. McCoy arched into the touch, gasping as Spock tweaked his nipples again and then _held them_ , so hard that McCoy cried out.

“Please!”

“Shh, _ashayam_ ,” Spock murmured, biting him again. His hips began to move and his cock slipped down between McCoy’s cheeks, rubbing against his sensitized hole. “You want this?”

“Yes!”

“Shh,” Spock soothed again, twisting his nipples still further. “You are shaking.”

McCoy sobbed, shuddering, and tried to hold himself still. “Please, please, Spock I need—I need—”

Spock released him and sat back on his heels, one hand falling to the base of his cock. McCoy could feel the wet, angled head against his hole and he begged for it with his body, needing it. He wished he could thrust himself down, impale himself on Spock’s length, but he was held immobile as Spock slowly pushed into him, hips rolling up and then tugging back down, taking him bit by bit as he thrashed against his bonds.

He arched as Spock settled inside of him, hips flush with his bottom, cock long and thick and utterly _perfect_ as it filled him. Spock didn’t move. Just sat there filling him, owning him, as he reached over and picked up the piercing tool and the first silver ring.

McCoy went still, save for his frantic breaths, as Spock slipped the ring inside. There was a humming sound as the tool disinfected itself, and then Spock looked down at him. He looked so _good_ , not a hair out of place, his brown eyes searching and calm for all that he was currently seated in McCoy’s body. McCoy squeezed around him unthinkingly and Spock’s lips slightly parted.

“Tell me again,” Spock ordered, his voice throaty.

McCoy stuttered, words difficult to pull out from beneath the haze of his arousal. “N-need you to—to pierce me, Spock. I want you to… mark me.”

Spock’s hand cupped his left pectoral, massaging him gently. “I wish for that as well.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yes.” Spock rested the sharp end of the piercing tool against his erect nipple, his fingertips gently massaging the sensitive skin all around it.

McCoy was shivering again, growing concerned as Spock didn’t do anything right away. His anxiety mounted, filling him to the brim, and he squeezed around Spock. He wanted to twist away—or twist towards, he wasn’t sure. He gulped. “Spock, what— _ah_!”

His reflexive jerk happened after the piercing was already inside of him, the wound closed off, a complete circle of sharp pain that faded to a dull ache almost instantly. Spock was watching him intensely, mouth still open as McCoy panted.

“You enjoy it?” Spock asked.

“Yes,” he moaned, hissing as he relaxed.

Spock was still touching his chest, soothing him. “It does not hurt?”

“It does, Spock,” McCoy told him gently. “Please? Do the other one?”

Water seemed to be rushing through his ears. He moved languidly as Spock clicked in the second ring and ran the disinfectant field. He felt the heavy pressure of the piercing tool and then grunted as Spock pierced him again, driving the ring into his body. He squeezed around Spock and tried to roll his hips, desperate for Spock to fuck him.

“Please,” he whispered. “Fuck me, Spock.”

Spock didn’t answer. He took the dermal regenerator from the first aid kit and ran it over McCoy’s new piercings. McCoy twitched as the skin was knit back together, healing his nipples. They were still taut with arousal, and the piercings held them away from his body. He tried to look down and was just in time to see Spock close his fingers around the silver rings.

“Oh!”

“Forgive me, Leonard,” Spock whispered, reverential. “I did not know how the sight of you would affect me.”

“Mm, Spock.” He writhed as Spock began to tug at the piercings, the bolts of pleasure sparkling and perfect. It felt better than it had before—more focused, more intense. He moaned as Spock flicked the rings and then slowly spun them. God—he could feel _everything_. His world narrowed to two sharp points as the thin metal shifted beneath his skin, sliding against nerve endings he didn’t even know he _had_.

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

“Spock, god damnit...” He trailed off, panting as Spock tugged at the rings again. He seemed to be testing McCoy’s body. He pulled one ring taut and held it there as he flicked the other one with his thumb, his nail trailing over the sensitive bud of his nipple. “Mmm, _please_ ,” he groaned, twisting his hips as best he could just to feel Spock moving inside of him. “Please, please Spock…”

Why wouldn’t he just _move_? McCoy was mewling now, the feeling of being so full driving him mad with arousal. Spock seemed content to sit there all day just toying with him, playing with the rings on his nipples as if he weren’t sobbing with pleasure already. He shuddered as Spock bent his head and kissed the center of his chest, trailing over to curl his tongue through a ring. It was just large enough that Spock could flick the tip of his tongue through it, rough over the sensitive, near-bruised skin. McCoy cried out, twisting his wrists against the cuffs.

“Please, I— _oh God_.” He jerked as Spock’s hand wrapped around his cock. “Th-thank you, Spock. _Please_ touch me, just…” He tried to push his hips up into the contact but he was immobile, at Spock’s mercy.

Spock toyed with his chest as he slowly stroked him, pressure just this side of too-light. Pain and pleasure flared across his sensitive nipples and headed straight for his cock, which throbbed in Spock’s grip. Spock hummed against him, scraping him with his teeth, and lifted his hand to flutter over the head of McCoy’s erection, touch so light it was almost painful.

McCoy made a soft sound—partially begging, partially crying—his entire body aflame. He felt pinned between Spock’s light touch and the thickness inside him. He was panting, his chest rising and falling frantically against Spock’s fingers and mouth, and Spock tugged on the rings again to make him moan. The sound tumbled from his mouth and he gritted his teeth.

“Gonna—Spock, please,” he begged. “Please _let_ me.”

Spock did, coiling his hand down to grip the length of his cock and pull, hand moving fast now as arousal pooled at the base of his spine. McCoy gasped at the contact, shuddering as his pleasure peaked and he came spurting over Spock’s fingers. Spock directed his cock down flat over his belly and he came over his own chest.

“Good,” Spock murmured as he stroked the last of McCoy’s emission from him. “So good, _ashayam_.”

McCoy had no coherent thoughts left.

He still whined as Spock pulled out of him. He felt a wet hand on his chin and he turned his face, gazing up as Spock straddled his ribcage. Spock’s powerful legs encircled him as he angled his hips down, rubbing his slick erection through the come on McCoy’s chest.

“Spock—”

“I will get you more of these,” Spock said, his voice sounding odd and broken as he tugged at one of the piercings and then began to fuck his cock over it. “I will adorn you with jewelry befitting your beauty.”

He writhed, nodding. He clenched his ass, wishing Spock was still inside of him, but this was still good. It was worth it to see the wildness in Spock’s eyes as he thrust over McCoy’s chest and his new piercings, sliding through semen and sweat and his own slick. McCoy gasped at the sight of Spock so far gone, and Spock took his head in his hands and gazed down at him, hot and desperate.

“Some day I should like to meld with you like this,” Spock whispered. His voice was low, almost dangerous. “I will hold you down and take you, mind and body.”

McCoy gazed up at him, enthralled by the intensity of Spock’s emotion. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Spock said, as if it were the only word he knew. His motions were growing stuttered now, hips breaking their frantic rhythm. “I wish to form a bond with you, Leonard. To be inside you always, and have you inside me.”

“Yes, Spock!”

“I will claim you.” He bared his teeth and one hand came down to hold his cock flush against McCoy’s chest, the length of him running over the metal ring again and again and again. “Take you as my own.”

“Please!”

“Mine. My beloved, my _ashayam_.” And Spock tipped his head back and groaned, a sound McCoy had never heard from him before but which seemed to come tearing out from some hidden place inside of him. He jerked over McCoy’s chest and came in spurts that were hot and slick.

McCoy shuddered as Spock came on him, his come falling on his chest and piercings. He yearned for Spock, desperate. “Let me, let me—”

Spock gave it to him, rearing up and slipping just the head in McCoy mouth. He stroked himself, long and slow, and a trickle poured from him and onto McCoy’s eager tongue. McCoy swallowed, groaning at the taste, eyes fluttering shut as Spock finished himself off.

After, his head fell back on the pillow. He felt utterly spent, his chest stick with the combination of their orgasms. He felt Spock shifting and slowly pulling away, shimmying down to the side. Spock’s arms came around him and he felt Spock snuggling up against him, nose buried in his neck. Spock kissed him there softly, and McCoy pushed against the contact.

“Mm, that’s nice…”

Spock kissed him again and then nipped at him with his lips, his hand coming up to McCoy’s sternum. He ran his fingers through the semen at his chest and McCoy jerked in surprise.

“That’s not very sanitary.”

“Earlier today I ate this from your body,” Spock said simply.

He was right, of course, but still. It was the principle of the thing. “Spock, it’s going to mat my hair if you don’t let me clean it off.”

Spock sat up, propped up on one arm, and looked down at how debauched McCoy was. His eyes were warm, contemplative. He seemed so innocent that McCoy jerked in surprise when Spock’s fingers closed around his right piercing, pulling gently.

“S-Spock.”

“There is much potential here,” Spock said, a note of _fascinating_ in his voice. “For example, there is the potential to fasten weights to the rings as I suspend your body for my meditation.”

“Yeah,” McCoy gasped. “I thought of that.”

“There is also the possibility of attaching a low-yield energy cell to emit small electrical shocks. That may prove quite stimulating.”

He gulped. He hadn’t considered that one, but the sparkle in Spock’s eye kept him from getting nervous. He smiled and lifted his chest as much as he could into Spock’s touch. “They’re for you,” he said. “Whatever you want to do to them.”

Spock’s hand stilled. Slowly, he flattened his palm, rubbing soothing circles on McCoy’s pectoral. He leaned in for a kiss that McCoy happily returned, lips sliding lazy and relaxed in the wake of their post-orgasmic high.

They necked for a long time. Eventually, Spock did pull away and went to the bathroom to fetch a washcloth. He cleaned McCoy’s chest for far longer than was strictly necessary, rubbing the cool cloth over the rings until they were positively gleaming and McCoy was covered in goosebumps. McCoy’s nipples were constantly erect now and he squirmed at the contact, resigning himself to getting used to the sensation.

Spock finally released his ankles and untied his hands, but he stopped short of undoing the shackles at McCoy’s wrists. He touched the chain contemplatively, fingers of his other hand petting McCoy’s hair.

“I enjoyed this,” Spock said, sounding quizzical.

“Mm, I did, too.” McCoy pushed up into the contact and settled against the trunk of Spock’s body, his cuffed wrists folding against his chest so that Spock could explore them.

“...I see that now,” Spock said after a long moment. He tugged McCoy towards him and leisurely explored his mouth with long swipes of his tongue. “I wish to have you like this again.”

“You can,” McCoy moaned, letting his mouth hang open in the hopes that Spock would claim it again. “Any time. Not just when you meditate.”

Spock didn’t kiss him, but he did bring his fingers up. Two long, calloused digits trailed over his bottom lip and then pushed in, sliding over his teeth and tongue. Spock watched him as he gently fucked McCoy’s mouth with his fingers.

Much more of this and McCoy would start getting hard again. He whimpered around Spock’s fingers, curling his tongue over his knuckles.

Spock stilled his hand, holding McCoy’s tongue down. “Tomorrow, then.”

McCoy made an inquisitive sound, muscles quivering.

“When your shift is over,” he said, thrusting his fingers deep into McCoy’s mouth to tickle the flutter of his throat. “You will come to my quarters and submit to me again. Is this agreeable?”

He nodded, swallowing around Spock’s fingers. Spock withdrew, trailing wetness over his chin as he yanked McCoy up for another chaste kiss. When they pulled apart he was writhing, wanting and needy. “Please…”

“Sleep now, Leonard,” Spock whispered to him. “Tomorrow we will discuss a new arrangement.”

And a meld? But McCoy didn’t say that. Instead, he curled against Spock, interlacing their legs as Spock called for the computer to dim the lights. He was still cuffed but he didn’t mind. McCoy sighed as he felt soft lips against his forehead, and then a hand settled on his waist via a long, meandering path over first one nipple, then the next, and then the first again.

He was panting and squirming by the time Spock stopped touching him, utterly pleased with himself. His gift had performed beyond his wildest dreams, and even if it meant a few aches and some tender skin it would be worth it for the chance to see Spock look like _that_ again. McCoy closed his eyes, contemplating the emotion he had seen flash across Spock’s face. It made him smile, secretive and giddy, ecstatic to know that he could read Spock like an open book.

For the Vulcan who has everything: Leonard McCoy, happily presenting himself on a silver platter.


End file.
